


To Save My Own

by Lillielle



Series: A Breath of Romance, A Twist of Despair [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Coercion, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillielle/pseuds/Lillielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: I own nothing.</p><p>To save the world, Harry would stop at nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Save My Own

He always insults me. Every morning when I wake next to him, uncurling from a cramped night full of nightmares, he sneers at me, maroon eyes darkening as he calls me a pitiful toy, a puling bitch who's taken the worst of two evils and broken the world in his own hubris. I could say the same for him, but instead, I say nothing, merely stare into my lap until he growls under his breath and yanks me to him, his mouth smashing against mine with raw desire. He is never gentle in the morning.

He is never gentle in the afternoon either, frustrated and furious from dealing with bureaucracy, as even Dark Lords deal with red tape. He bends me over his desk, thrusting into me so hard I nearly lose my balance and tumble headlong over the blasted furniture. Bruises bloom on my thighs, but he pays them no mind as he hisses in my ear and calls me the Boy Who Lived to Fuck. It is to my eternal shame that I come with him, untouched.

In the evening, he feeds me tidbits from his plate, listening to Lucius or Severus absentmindedly as they speak of their days. It feels almost like a twisted family, as I kneel at his feet, lapping scraps from their fallen place at his boots. Sometimes his hand comes down and tousles my hair, and I burn with secret pride. Then he kicks me, sending me sprawling to the tiles, and the feeling shatters.

"Why do you do this to me?" I long to burst out at him, long to scream at him, to hurl myself against him and _hurt_ him. But I can't. This is the price I paid to save the ones who are most dear to me, although they will never know. I can say nothing.

He keeps me safe from his minions, those who would torment me merely by virtue of my name, or the lightning bolt etched into my forehead. He protects me from outsiders as well, locking me into the bedroom when newcomers come calling. For my safety, he says at those times, and sometimes I think I see concern in those ruby eyes.

"Please me," he orders at night, when we are both undressed. He is always hard, always ready, and my mouth laves him, my fingers pleasure him, until he presses me face-down and spread-eagled into the bed, until he pants in my ear, telling me to come for him, come with him. His hand closes over me, roughly pulling once, twice, and I am undone, as always.

I lay there, panting, burning with shame as he pulls out, as he pulls me closer to him. If I did not know better, I would say that Voldemort is snuggling. But it can't be that, and so I convince myself that I am not cuddling him, I am not relaxing into his gentle grasp.

And if he whispers sweet nothings into my hair as I drift off to sleep, I can convince myself it was all a dream.


End file.
